


Wallflowers

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pining, Smut, Unrequited Crush, with just a soupçon of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: During the ball at Halamshiral, connections of myriad types are made. (InTo The End of Love, Cassandra finally gives in to her connection with the Inquisitor, despite her being Cassandra's leader, and a woman.) This story is about Leliana's connection to Morrigan, and can be summed up as:tfw you run into your crush fromagesago at a fancy soirée, and they're lookin' fine, and you're lookin' a bit ratched, but you go for it anyway, and then have a whole lot of complicated feels about it.





	Wallflowers

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be the other side of the coin of [To The End of Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089966): a brief look at Morrigan and Leliana's connection. And then 10,000+ words and a sex scene later, and, well, here we are. Morrigan and Leliana just would not let me get away with a quick piece, and they absolutely _insisted_ on the smut.

No one at Halamshiral knew how miserable Leliana was to be there. The fact that she had kept her emotions very carefully in check was, in fact, one of the few small pleasures she experienced over the course of the entire mission. Even the minor joy of observing and assessing the other attendees — their sumptuary fashion choices, the ways in which their footwear spoke unintended volumes about their stations and aspirations — was muted by her awareness of her own attire, unstylish and vulgar. The Inquisition uniforms were necessary, even Leliana agreed to this. And they were useful in their own way, clearly identifying them as outsiders, showing a united front in support of the Inquisitor.

But, oh, it was so unpleasant to stand out in such a setting! Leliana longed with every fibre of her being to become inconspicuous, to retreat to a safe space, to hide in the shadows. Once, she would have taken joy in making a spectacular display, in commanding the crowd’s attention. She would have worn a stunning gown, something on the bleeding edge of Orlesian fashion. Firmly corseted, with a dramatically dropped waist, a low neckline. Extravagant sleeves, of course, but something simpler for the skirts, understated in design but made with lavish fabrics. Ornamentation that had a bit of an edge to it. And exquisite shoes, of course. Not the jewelled slippers commonly on display this evening— relatively cheaply made, for all their flash — but properly heeled shoes from a good cobbler, made from a brocade so lustrous it might as _well_ be jewelled, and styled with stays and laces to imitate the corsetry of her gown. And she would dance, and converse with brio and devastating wit, and flirt…. But that was another life, many years ago. It was gone.

Leliana ought to have known, by now, that there was nothing in her life that could not come back, in some way. Nothing was ever truly vanquished, ever truly gone.

It was a testament to how focused Leliana had been on other matters that she had not taken into account her Morrigan’s place in Celene’s court. Josephine must have known that an apostate mage named Morrigan was an influential and controversial member of the court, but if she made the connection to the Fifth Blight and to the Hero of Orlais and to Leliana herself, well, Josephine had kept quiet. Leliana herself was obviously well aware of Morrigan’s presence in Orlais, yet in all her planning and thought about the Inquisition’s attendance at Celene’s ball, it had not consciously occurred to Leliana that Morrigan would also be there.

Upon first seeing Morrigan, Leliana had almost thought she was hallucinating. She had been intently focused on helping Josephine to prepare the Inquisitor and the others in the party for their roles this evening, in reconnoitring the ballroom and surrounding hallways and chambers, in evaluating the crowd and the prevailing mood. And then Morrigan had appeared in the middle distance, as arrestingly beautiful as ever, but startlingly clad in a gorgeous gown of deep red velvet and luminous green silk, her hair up in an elegant twist, her form glinting with brilliant golden ornaments reminiscent of feathers. 

It would have been a shock to see Morrigan at all, after all these years. It was even more deeply unsettling to see her clad not in the filthy rags she had worn when they adventured together, but rather in the kind of magnificent gown that Leliana had often imagined her in — and _out of_ — during the long months of vain infatuation she had indulged in. Oh, Leliana had been so _young_ then, despite all she had already been through. Young and full of romantic ideas, drawn helplessly to Morrigan’s caustic attitude and her raw beauty and her alluring complexity.

For a moment, seeing Morrigan as though she had stepped out of one of Leliana’s youthful fantasies, Leliana felt that young again. A lively hope and artless affection overtook her heart, in a way that she had not felt for many years.

Leliana fancied she saw Morrigan pause, catch her eye… but she was far away, and shortly moved on in another direction, away from where the Inquisition were loosely clustered and convening. 

Quickly, but with an effort, Leliana shook off the sudden weight of her emotions, firmly shutting them away. She re-focused her energies on the Inquisitor, on the rest of the party, and on the strategy they needed in order to survive whatever was going to happen that evening.

The evening progressed more or less as they had envisioned. The Inquisition was formally introduced to the court. The Inquisitor danced with Florianne, Josephine chatted with her sister Yvette, Cassandra and Cullen vied for the role of Most Conspicuously Miserable. Leliana fought her instinct to disappear into the shadows — which would have been difficult, but not impossible, in the Inquisition uniform — and instead observed the ball, and the conspiracy that was happening on its periphery, from within the ball’s activity.

Leliana resolutely ignored Morrigan whenever the woman drifted through her field of vision. Even after the mage had made overtures to the Inquisitor, had offered information and hinted at cooperation with the Inquisition’s goals for the evening, Leliana kept her distance, only offering minor advice to Siobhan Trevelyan about how to respond to Morrigan.

At one point when nothing much was happening in the ball itself, Josephine sidled up to Leliana and pressed a glass of wine into her hand, which she determinedly touched with her own glass. “To the fighting party,” Josephine said softly. “May the Maker preserve them.”

They both sipped the wine. It was sweet without being cloying, delicious and obviously very expensive. Leliana felt herself relax, just a fraction, around this small pleasure. “You’re worried,” Leliana remarked.

“Of _course_ I am worried,” Josephine said, her voice still low, but with a new note of aggravation colouring her tone. “There are _multiple_ conspiracies being executed even as we speak. The Inquisitor is off somewhere in the palace, encountering Maker knows what. The fate of the Empire is hinging on the outcomes of our efforts tonight, and all _we_ can do at the moment is wait. _And_ Yvette has been telling all _kinds_ of tales about me to anyone who will listen!” Josephine gestured indignantly with her wine glass.

Leliana did not bother to conceal her smile. “How dreadful,” she remarked, sipping her wine.

Josephine made an exasperated noise. “She is infuriating. And here, tonight, she is also in as much danger as any of us.” Then she sighed. “And you, my friend, have been agitated all evening. What is the matter?”

“I am worried about the outcome of the evening, and about the Inquisitor and her companions, as you are,” Leliana said smoothly.

“Oh? Am I to believe, then, that your unrest has nothing whatsoever to do with Morrigan’s insinuating herself into the evening’s events?”

Leliana wasn’t even surprised. Perhaps she had, on some level, known that _of course_ Josie was perfectly aware of the social-emotional dynamics at play, had likely noted every nuance of Leliana’s reactions to Morrigan’s presence. Josephine’s theatrical dismay over her sister was also almost certainly intended to put Leliana at ease and invite her confidence… but Leliana found she did not mind Josie’s manipulations, which were those of a friend making a kindly overture.

“It _is_ a little strange, seeing her here,” Leliana said, allowing herself to admit it. “I knew she was in Celene’s court, of course. I don’t know why I’m so unsettled.” 

“Perhaps because she is a reminder of a different time in your life,” Josephine suggested, taking a sip of wine. “A time when you had less power, less control over your fate — or at least, so it must seem to you now.”

Leliana gave Josephine a shrewd glance. “You have been analyzing me,” she said, her tone hovering between accusatory and teasing.

“Of course, my dear friend,” Josie replied with an expressive smile. “Would you ever expect anything less?”

Leliana scoffed, amused. “Since you have deduced my emotional state, I suppose you have also already determined five distinct courses of action I might take in response, which you have ranked according to which is most likely to result in my own gratification. Yes?”

“And according to which would most impress any Game-players who might be observing you at the time, as a secondary measurement,” Josie replied in kind. Then her expression changed, subtly, and her voice took on a more serious tone. “She is manoeuvering herself to join the Inquisition.”

Leliana kept her expression neutral. “How certain are you?” she asked.

“Not perfectly so,” Josie replied, “but enough to act on it. I initially thought, as I’m sure you did, that Morrigan was merely interested in influencing the Inquisition’s position for this evening. She is in Celene’s confidence, and she would not want to see her own position weakened. However,” she went on, “several sources have suggested to me that Morrigan has vested interests in being involved with the Inquisition in a direct and ongoing manner.”

“‘Vested interests’?”

“I do not know what these may be. Rumours about Morrigan abound in Orlais, and so the stories about her reasons are a little preposterous — asserting that she was born of a High Dragon, or that she seeks to become the vessel of a mystical elven well.”

Leliana thought these were perhaps less preposterous than Josephine surmised, but said nothing.

Josephine went on, “Her speaking with the Inquisitor, and giving Siobhan advice and information that will no doubt prove very useful tonight, may be Morrigan’s way to secure the position she wishes for. I have been told that she is to be named official liaison to the Inquisition, and this seems likely to proceed regardless of the outcome of this evening’s plots.” Josie glanced at Leliana. “I know this is not entirely expected. What are you thinking?”

Leliana paused, then replied, very quietly, “I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” Josie finished the last of the wine in her glass. “Given that there is little that we can do to help Siobhan and the fighting party at the moment… I would very much like to be more active in bolstering our intelligence, especially in areas where we did not have complete information, such as Morrigan’s intentions.” Josephine sighed. “She has, however, managed to evade me all evening. Perhaps you would have more luck than I have. And… perhaps it will help give you some amount of satisfaction as well, if you can speak with her.”

Leliana gave Josie a wordless look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. The attempt at manipulation was obvious enough, and from anyone else it would have incurred Leliana’s contempt. But… there was no deception or real manipulation in this. Leliana could see this easily enough. Josephine certainly wanted to get as much information about Morrigan as possible, if she was to be involved with the Inquisition. And she also genuinely wanted Leliana to have a modicum of peace.

Leliana was not entirely sure that speaking to Morrigan would bring her anything other than further agitation. But Josie was not wrong. And there was little else for her to do besides brood and glare, until whatever was happening with the Inquisitor in the hidden parts of the Winter Palace came to light.

Leliana finished her wine and handed the glass to Josephine. Without another word, she turned and strode into the crowds, looking for Morrigan.

With ties to Celene, and knowing that there was a conspiracy against the Empress, Morrigan was likely to be mostly keeping close to Celene’s inner circle. It would be feasible, though challenging, to approach her unobserved. Leliana had spotted Morrigan here and there throughout the evening, away from Celene. And even if Morrigan had been cleaving to the Empress’s side, Leliana would have relished the opportunity to make herself unnoticed, to sidle right up to Morrigan before the other woman even noticed….

Though the uniform would make that difficult. Leliana suppressed a small sigh as she navigated the knots and whorls of people in the palace hallways. There was a certain _hesitance_ that she felt, wearing such an unfashionable and unflattering outfit, to approach a woman of her acquaintance who was currently wearing a stunningly beautiful and undeniably alluring gown. That the other woman should be Morrigan, of all people — rag-clad and tinsel-adorned, tatterdemalion and nonchalantly-exquisite _Morrigan_ — roused rather more complicated emotions in Leliana, which she now allowed to flutter to the surface of her consciousness.

It had been so simple, back in those days. Leliana had been initially indifferent to, then vaguely amused by, then tragically attracted to Morrigan. By the time her infatuation had truly built up a head of steam, it was evident that nothing would come of it. Morrigan was not especially fond of Leliana, and made it clear in one way and another that she was not inclined toward women as sexual or romantic partners. And because of who Leliana was in those days, because of her youth and her idealism and her bone-deep yearning for connection and closeness, she experienced Morrigan’s rejection as a sweet ache to be cherished, a wound to be tenderly nursed.

In the ensuing years, Leliana had changed so much that she barely recognized herself from her own memories. The lightness, the music, the staunch faith… all vanished, or rather, all profoundly transformed. Where there had been lightness, there was intensity; where there had been music, there was mystery; where there had been faith, there was conviction.

And where there had been a sweet ache of yearning for a beautiful and charmingly irascible sorceress… well. That sweet ache had somehow persisted, small and easily ignored, to be fondly contemplated only in the most private and vulnerable moments of fleeting nostalgia. What would Leliana have become, had Morrigan returned her affection? Would they have adventured together, after the ending of the Blight? If Leliana had never become Left Hand at Dorothea’s behest, if she had instead traveled with Morrigan — 

It was such a nonsensical fantasy. There was truly no road which Leliana and Morrigan could have walked together, and each of them be happy and fulfilled in her life’s missions. But, oh, it was pleasant to imagine what their nights might have been, together. In the open air, under the stars, with the wind in the forest leaves. In an inn’s narrow bed, bathed in candlelight, twined together all night long. In a tent, sharing a bedroll, finding each other in the dark by touch.

Although her mind kept slipping down such delightfully distracting paths, Leliana kept a vigilant eye on her surroundings in the Winter Palace. Every time her presence caught someone’s attention — which was often enough, given her uniform — she swiftly and skillfully slid out of their awareness, making herself less interesting, less noticeable, and always moving. She surveyed the energy and motion of the rooms, gravitating toward loci of power and interest, seeking out Morrigan’s uncanny _élan_ from amidst the miasma of overbred Orlesian courtiers.

Despite Leliana’s efforts, Morrigan saw her before she saw Morrigan. Leliana was passing through a sweeping and nearly-deserted hallway lined with grand windows that were open to the night air. The nearly-subliminal frisson Leliana suddenly felt was utterly distinct from her awareness of others’ attention, and she knew even before she turned that Morrigan would be at the other end of the hallway.

Leliana’s shock, upon turning and seeing the hallway behind her completely empty, was swift and intense enough that she could not entirely conceal it. She actually spun around, scanning the entirety of the hallway and its branching passages at either end. Disoriented, she stood unmoving for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium. And in that moment of stillness, she heard the quiet swish of wings through one of the open windows.

With her shock giving way rapidly to mixed-together annoyance and delight, Leliana glanced out the window. Of course, there was nothing out there now, no raven — only slightly larger, only slightly more uncannily alert than natural ravens — lurking in the branches of the ornamental trees. Leliana was both amused and appalled at Morrigan’s audacity, shapeshifting here and now, during a conspiracy-riddled ball at Halamshiral.

The hallway was presently deserted, and Leliana made a quick and slightly reckless decision. Before anyone else came into the hallway, before she could second-guess herself, she moved to the nearest window and vaulted soundlessly over its frame, landing lightly on the grassy ground a storey below. She felt a small thrill at her own nerve, a burst of mischievous happiness at this little act of rebellion, sensations she had almost forgotten in recent years. It was unexpectedly exhilarating, like new life coursing through withered branches, causing the dormant rosebud to burst into bloom.

Leliana straightened, not looking around, and quietly said, “Hide-and-seek, is it? I never took you for a player of games, let alone a player of _the_ Game.” 

In the walled courtyard Leliana had landed in, it was very quiet, sheltered even from the slight breezes of the night, with the distant sounds from the upper-storey windows and terraces of the palace muted by the treetops. And so Leliana heard, very softly but utterly unmistakably, a familiar exasperated sigh coming from the high branches of one of the trees. She tried, and failed, not to smile. Apparently she was not too proud to take pleasure in the knowledge that she could — after all these years, after the unrest Morrigan’s presence at Halamshiral had caused Leliana — provoke a reaction in Morrigan. It was a silly, girlish impulse… but oh, Leliana felt a satisfied glow warm her heart.

With a rustle of leaves, a dark feathered form tumbled gracefully from a nearby tree, resolving into Morrigan as it fell. The witch landed, gown-clad, on the grass before Leliana. “I play no games,” she said, gazing imperiously at Leliana. “Nor have I ever spent my energy in such frivolities. Yet you seem to be as insistent as ever on pestering me.”

Up close, Morrigan was even more stunning. Leliana — perhaps overcome with nostalgia and the habits of her younger self, perhaps intoxicated with the joy of fleeting liberation from her unending duties — allowed her eyes to sweep down Morrigan’s form, as obvious and shameless as when they had adventured together. “You are selling yourself short,” Leliana retorted. “You may not have participated in the formalities and fanfare of the Game, but you have always known how to play it, when you wished, even without the obvious outward expressions. And I must say, Morrigan, that the outward expressions suit you extremely well.” Leliana allowed herself another smile. “You look as lovely in your red velvet gown as I told you you would.”

Back then, Morrigan would have rolled her eyes and walked away, or issued a scathing remark, in response to Leliana’s flirting compliment. Now, though, Morrigan actually took a half-step forward, and tilted her head while looking at Leliana appraisingly. Her gaze, tawny and piercing as a wild cat’s, was dangerously captivating. Morrigan’s hands, in provocative fingerless gloves, traced over the filigreed ornaments along the neckline of her gown. “All this ostentation? ’Tis not for you,” Morrigan said, her voice a husky purr. Her hands stroked over her bodice, coming to rest on her hips. “I am willing to make certain sartorial concessions to the post I hold here, in Celene’s court.”

Leliana was a little breathless, but managed to keep her voice even as she replied, “To see you in a formal gown is as surprising as it is delightful. Even more surprising to find you willingly occupying a position among the Orlesian ruling class.”

“That proves only that you know even less of my motives than you suppose,” Morrigan said.

“I suppose nothing at all,” Leliana said lightly. “You were ever an enigma.”

“An enigma? No. I merely object to prattling on about meaningless things. ’Tis baffling that some people might mistake this for mystery.”

From anyone else, such a barb would have aroused nothing more than passing disdain. But from Morrigan, it lit joyful sparks inside Leliana, and she did not bother to suppress a charmed smile. This had the effect of making Morrigan roll her eyes, which delighted Leliana even more. It was so strange, and so enjoyable, to fall back so quickly into their old dynamic… and yet, it could not be. Years had passed; they were each in wildly different situations than they had been then; and they were currently in a closed courtyard in Halamshiral, with conspiracy and likely violence detonating somewhere inside, and Morrigan’s role in that and her ultimate intentions were still unknown.

Leliana reined in her delight. Focusing her mind, she said in a neutral tone, “A woman’s mysteriousness can be many things, Morrigan. It can be silence… it can be diversion… it can be deception. I wonder, which of those best describes your endeavours tonight?”

Morrigan looked at Leliana as though she had finally done something truly interesting. She took another step closer to Leliana, bringing them easily within arm’s reach. “My endeavours tonight,” she said thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you would be most curious. What exactly do you wish to know? Perhaps I might even answer, in deference of our prior acquaintance.”

Leliana’s heart beat with a bright elation. This was utterly unlike speaking with Josie — benign and collaborative — nor like speaking with the other Game-players at an event like this — combative and haughty — and for the first time in a great many years, Leliana found the lure difficult to refuse. Morrigan was subtle and shrewd, unexpectedly leveraging her own magnetism to manipulate Leliana. It wasn’t working, of course; or rather, it wasn’t working without Leliana being perfectly aware of what was happening.

This awareness did not make it easier to resist. Which was the truly shocking thing. Leliana’s early education with Marjolaine had taught her to identify and evade attempts at manipulation, and Marjolaine’s betrayal had fixed those lessons inextricably in Leliana’s outlook. 

Morrigan was nothing like Marjolaine. Was nothing like the other players of the Game. Their interaction now was not the Game, nor was it the same shallow banter they had exchanged during their adventures many years ago. It was something new. Something Leliana found herself _wanting_ it, wanting this novel connection, as much or more as she wanted insight into Morrigan’s motives for seeking out a position with the Inquisition.

Leliana carefully angled her body slightly away from Morrigan, walking slowly around the perimeter of the other woman’s gown, her glance overtly assessing Morrigan’s outfit from every angle as she went. Leliana did not narrate her appraisal, and instead said, “What I wish to know… aside from the name of your seamstress… is what your intentions are with the Inquisition.”

Morrigan turned her head to speak to Leliana as she passed behind her. “I do as my Empress commands. If she indicates that I am to be her liaison to the Inquisition, that is what will happen.”

Leliana met Morrigan’s eyes, scoffing expressively. “You would have me believe you are Celene’s lapdog, to trot obediently wherever she points?”

Morrigan did not reply, but merely turned her head to follow Leliana’s passage around her, until they were standing face to face once more. 

Leliana allowed the silence to linger, their eyes locked, for a tantalizing moment. “No. You are no one’s toy, Morrigan,” she said, allowing a note of affection to unfurl as she spoke the other woman’s name. “You will always have your own reason for everything you do, and three unspoken reasons underneath that. I do not ask you to reveal all. Whatever you may think of me, I am not so naive as to expect that.” It was not difficult, then, for Leliana to soften her posture, to open her expression, to sweeten her gaze as it lingered on Morrigan’s features. She permitted herself — such indulgence! — to savour the thrilling energy passing between them, the edge of implicit seduction, the tempting illusion of a romance that Leliana had long craved.

A little reluctantly, she rallied, tamped down her effervescent bliss, and said, plainly, “Why do you wish to join with the Inquisition?”

Morrigan arched a single eyebrow, and her eyes dipped swiftly down and up Leliana’s body. “Perhaps I am interested in renewing an old acquaintance.”

Despite her her gratification at Morrigan’s gaze, Leliana felt a twinge of impatience. A flirting exchange of information was one thing; using flirtation to derail the exchange was quite another. “If you are going to make jokes, they ought to at least be amusing,” she said.

“What, you are opposed to renewing our rapport?” Morrigan asked. She had begun to take very small, slow steps toward Leliana, gradually closing what space remained between them.

A little off-balance, Leliana said, “Renew? _What_ rapport?”

Morrigan was now mere inches away from Leliana, the skirts of her gown billowing around Leliana’s legs. “It has been many years,” Morrigan said very softly, so that Leliana instinctively leaned in even closer to catch the words, watching Morrigan’s lips to make them out. “You are not the same as you were. Nor am I, Leliana,” she murmured, the name almost a caress.

All the long-dormant affection and yearning Leliana had felt for Morrigan swiftly rose up in an incandescent blaze. How often had Morrigan actually said her name, Leliana thought, in their years together. Certainly she had never said it with such a curl of warmth. 

Though she held herself carefully still, agitation boiled in Leliana’s mind. That _Morrigan_ should be deploying such unalloyed charm and seduction, now, toward Leliana, was almost unimaginable. With any other living person, Leliana would have been nonplussed by such overt flirtation, able to ignore it or react strategically, as easily as breathing.

Yet here she was, her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage, melting desire coursing through her limbs, as infatuated as a schoolgirl. She knew how to sidestep her own emotional reactions — her role as Left Hand of the Divine, and now as Inquisition spymaster, required this on a frequent basis — but Leliana found that she did not _wish_ to evade this, whatever _this_ was.

And so Leliana, going against years of scarring trauma, relaxed into her desire. She returned Morrigan’s gaze, relishing the delicious exchange of attention, and smiled at the other woman with a slow, deliberate curve of her lips.

They stood, energy almost thrumming between them, for a moment. Then: “’Tis true, I seek to work closely with the Inquisitor,” Morrigan said quietly. “And ’tis no puzzle why I should. The threat Corypheus poses cannot be understated, and Skyhold is the best place for the knowledge and skills I can bring to bear against his goals. That is why I shall be joining with you… with your Inquisition.”

“Oh?” Leliana said, tilting her head, holding Morrigan’s gaze. “It is not _my_ Inquisition. I am but its humble seneschal.”

Morrigan smirked. “Are we really to have such fabrications delineate our relationship?”

“If they aren’t to your liking,” Leliana said, smiling, breathless, “we can negotiate fabrications that are more appealing to you.”

“Surely there is no need for dissembling. Not between the two of us, with what we have experienced together,” Morrigan said. Leliana’s breath caught as Morrigan raised her hand to touch Leliana’s cheek with cool fingers. “No masks,” she said, her voice low and soft, as plush and verdant as forest moss.

“No masks,” Leliana repeated, lifting her own hand to trace the contour of Morrigan’s cheekbone, her thumb playing at the corner of Morrigan’s dark-stained mouth, her fingers tracing soft paths on Morrigan’s smooth cheek. Had she ever touched Morrigan, in any way other than the accidental, or the purely functional? She did not think so. This close, Leliana could see the lines feathering out from Morrigan’s eyes, the soft shadows of the fine skin beneath them, which had not been there before. She felt an overwhelming fondness, that she should know Morrigan well enough, for long enough, to remember when her face had been smooth and dewy with youth… to be so close to her now to see the evidence of the passage of years, of the accumulation of cares, of the endurance of her existence in this world.

Suddenly, Morrigan leaned in, one arm sliding across Leliana’s shoulders, the other coming up to hook around Leliana’s waist, pulling her in close. Morrigan’s lips moved against Leliana’s ear, as she whispered, “I am already allied with you, and you with me. Whether more shall come of it, or not, I cannot say. Only know that I have changed, and changed, and changed… and yet, I am more myself now than I was then. And what now are you, Nightingale?” 

Leliana began to turn her head to whisper an answer in Morrigan’s ear, but before she could move, Morrigan’s arms around her shrank away, the other woman’s body startlingly folded into itself in Leliana’s arms, the fabric of the gown and all its ornaments gathering together in a rush. Then the raven that was Morrigan flapped its great wings, blowing back Leliana’s hair, and rose out of the courtyard and into the night sky, leaving Leliana bereft and shocked.

Shock quickly gave way to outrage mingled with mirth, and Leliana let out a single huffed laugh, which sounded very loud in the still quiet of the courtyard. Morrigan’s abrupt departure stung, but Leliana immediately gathered that emotion up and shoved it unceremoniously out of her awareness, to be dealt with later, if at all. Assessing what had just happened, Leliana had to admit that she still did not have any real insight into Morrigan’s motivations.

And yet, she was no longer especially concerned, not for the wellbeing of the Inquisition. Morrigan’s explanation, though succinct, rang true — Leliana would never believe Morrigan to be in any way aligned with Corypheus, whatever other worldly or esoteric motives she may have. It made every kind of sense, that she would seek to place herself where she could best oppose Corypheus. There would be layers and layers to Morrigan’s strategy, and likely many other more personal, private goals that she would be moving toward with the Inquisition. But that would be true of any ally, and was in fact true of many _current_ Inquisition members. It would warrant careful attention, but was not cause for alarm.

Leliana would have to covey all this to Josephine, so that they could jointly strategize about Morrigan’s coming into the Inquisition. And it was possible the fighting party had emerged from whatever confrontation had taken place in the depths of the palace, and Leliana would want to be on hand for the fallout of the action.

The courtyard was, on the ground level, closed except for one door, which was barred from the inside. Between sturdy vines clinging to the stonework of the courtyard walls, and a few branches that grew close to the still-open windows in the upper storeys, Leliana was able to make her way back into the hallway, though she had to spend a few uncomfortable minutes hanging below the window, waiting for the silence that would indicate the hallway was clear.

Josephine was standing off to the side in the main ballroom, and Cullen was striding toward her; Leliana joined them as he walked up, and they quickly exchanged information. Cullen indicated that the fighting had gone well with no losses for the Inquisition fighting party, and that Florianne and Celine were dead. Josephine told them that she was reasonably certain of Gaspard’s allegiance to the Inquisition, and of his potential for bringing stability to Orlais. Leliana said that Morrigan would be working directly with the Inquisition in their resistance of Corypheus. Then all three turned to watch the fallout of the night’s fighting, playing out at the front of the ballroom. It would have appeared dramatic to many of the attendees — certainly, their reactions and gasps were plentiful and theatrical — but all of the Inquisition’s advisors, even Cullen, knew it was mostly a show, for the benefit of Gaspard’s allies and interests.

As the show came to an end, the players — Siobhan and the Inquisition fighting party, Gaspard and Briala and their various allies and hangers-on — drifted offstage singly and in groups, and the atmosphere of the ballroom shifted. With the political-intrigue portion of the night over and done with, the real _party_ could begin. Leliana knew, as she knew water would run downhill, that the wine would flow, alliances would be freely made and broken and remade, flirtations and dalliances would blaze up and many attendees would be caught up in flares of romance or sex or both. 

Leliana felt utterly exhausted, and a little surprised at her own exhaustion. This form of Game-playing had long been her _milieu_ , and she normally looked forward to the scintillating potential energy of these moments. It was now that her skills could be brought to bear in earnest, when she could move among the lesser Game players, extracting information and influencing relationships without her marks ever becoming aware that they had been manipulated. 

But now, Leliana found she had no desire to exert her energies in this way. Perhaps it was leftover malaise from earlier in the evening, when she had wished to disappear into the shadows. But no. Truly, Leliana knew that her encounter with Morrigan was the root of her current turmoil. Many times, she had to turn her mind away from replaying those moments with Morrigan, and from wishing for more.

She threw herself into the action and energy of the ball as best she could. Which, even with her distraction, was extremely effective. Leliana moved throughout the other attendees, gleaning information of value to the Inquisition. Now and again, she would attach herself to Josephine, like two nimble worker bees greeting one another and sharing information before flying back out to the fields of flowers.

Although Leliana’s marks never guessed how she affected them, many of the more astute Game players would have seen Leliana doing this work and been impressed with her efficiency and drive. Josie was not so easily fooled, and after some time, she linked her arm firmly with Leliana’s (so that she could not so easily flit away) and said, “Leliana. Enough.”

“Not yet,” Leliana said, vainly hoping she could distract Josephine. “If I can just speak once more with Marquis Etienne, I know I can persuade him to — ”

“You have done enough and more than enough,” Josephine said decisively. “Marquis Etienne has no influence with either Gaspard or Briala, and so is of no use to us, and you know it. Leliana. There is little more to be learned from this crowd, and nothing to be gained, not tonight. And you have a rendezvous.”

Leliana turned her head to fix Josephine with a penetrating gaze. It was meant to be at least a little intimidating, but Josephine smiled indulgently. “Go,” Josephine said, squeezing Leliana’s arm before letting it go. “There is nothing more to be done with the Game. Go. Find her.”

“I — ”

“Leliana,” Josephine said again, quietly, but with a clipped tone that Leliana knew well, which immediately snapped her out of her specious focus on Etienne. 

Without looking at Josephine, Leliana took a breath, and another. Then she reached over to squeeze one of Josie’s hands. Keeping her face carefully neutral — they were in public, and in uniform, and it was not as though _all_ danger had passed, not with so many Game-players about — she said, very quietly, “I fear the risk.”

“You do not trust her?”

“Myself.”

“Ah,” said Josie, no judgment in her voice. Then: “You do not fear the risk to the Inquisition.” This was not a question, and she did not wait for an answer before continuing, “You know its affairs are well in hand at the moment, that there are many minds bent toward its protection and advancement.”

Leliana drew in another breath, but said nothing.

Then Josephine said, very quietly, barely moving her lips, “You fear the risk of your heart. You fear its vulnerability.” As she spoke, Josie began to lead Leliana steadily along a hallway off the main ballroom. She continued to speak in a very low voice, pitched for Leliana’s ears alone. “That is understandable — even people who have not been hurt as you have feel this. Yet it is not wise to allow this fear to calcify, to the point where one’s heart cannot let anyone in.” Josie drew them through hallways and rooms, moving in a way to avoid attention. “I know that you are not this shell, this hardness that you have built around yourself. I do not wish for that hardness to become all that you are. I wish for you to be able to open yourself to softness, and light, and joy.”

They came to an expansive hallway lined with sets of open double doors leading on the terraces that overlooked one of the palace’s main courtyards. Throughout the hallway’s length, there were a few small groups of people having private conversations… and, strangely, Cassandra, who was standing awkwardly to the side of one of the doorways and peering intently through it.

Leliana was about to ask Josie why she had brought her to Cassandra just now, but the Ambassador drew her quickly into one of the more shadowy alcoves at the back of the hallway. Josephine spoke again, still very quietly: “I wish for you to allow yourself to embrace affection and desire.”

Leliana watched Cassandra, guessing what — _whom_ — the Seeker was looking at. “As you think Cassandra is doing, albeit very haltingly?”

“Cassandra is very brave in her vulnerability.”

Leliana scoffed. “And I am being a coward?”

Josie did not answer, which was in fact a very pointed answer, and Leliana felt a flash of umbrage. “I am being _sensible_ ,” Leliana said, trying to keep her annoyance in check and her voice low. “Morrigan is not proposing joining the Inquisition to be _seduced_.”

“I saw the way she looked at you, even during the brief exchanges in public,” Josephine said, “and while she may not be joining the Inquisition with the sole intent of being seduced, I am quite certain that that she would not object to a closer relationship with you.”

Leliana had to suppress a reaction that was partly laughter and partly an outraged bark. She glared at Josephine, but then movement from the door to the terrace caught her eye. Cassandra had taken a half step back, and then Morrigan emerged from the doorway, sweeping past Cassandra and then down the hallway.

“You do not need to be always wise and withdrawn. You do not need to be always cautious. You deserve happiness and pleasure,” Josie murmured to Leliana. “You deserve closeness with someone who wants closeness with you. Be bold, be a little reckless. Trust that even if it ends badly… it will not end so badly as it has done before.” 

Leliana stared at Morrigan’s retreating figure, and thought, _yes_ , there was no way it could end as badly as it had with Marjolaine. If for no other reason than she had Josephine, and many more friends and allies in the Inquisition, whose presence would prevent a betrayal on that scale. But on the smaller scale of the heart….

“Trust yourself,” Josie was saying. “You are more resilient than you think. Trust your heart. Go to her.” Josie squeezed Leliana’s hand, once, then released it with a gentle push away from the alcove, down the hallway toward Morrigan. 

Cassandra had vanished, presumably through the door to the terrace, presumably to go to Siobhan. Well. If Cassandra could bring herself to reach for what she desired — despite all her hesitance and second-guessing, despite all her stubborn assumptions about herself and her own inclinations — then surely Leliana could do this, could reach for what she had desired for so long.

Morrigan had also disappeared, but Leliana had watched her pass down the hallway into the next section of the palace. She knew from the reconnaissance reports that there were few public rooms in that direction; Morrigan was heading toward one of the residence wings of the palace. Leliana knew, from Cullen’s report, that a not-insignificant amount of the fighting had taken place in various of the private residence suites, and wondered briefly if she would encounter any danger… or if Morrigan would, and if she was still in fighting form, if she was armed, if she could defend herself. If Leliana would have to make use of the several knives she had secreted on her person, to protect Morrigan. If they would, perhaps, fight the enemy together, each protecting the other, their disparate fighting styles somehow meshing together into a dance of annihilation, as they had years ago.

There were, of course, no enemies lurking in the hallways of the residence wing Morrigan had vanished into. The door to the public part of the palace was locked, but Leliana easily picked it open in under a minute, despite being a little out of practice. She moved silently through deserted hallways, listening attentively. She could hear faint noises coming from behind some of the locked and barred doors, in the occupied rooms, but nothing that caught her attention… until she heard the quiet _snick_ of a door opening further ahead in the hallway.

Leliana silently jogged down the hallway, and around a corner in time to see the edge of Morrigan’s skirts vanishing through a doorway. Leliana was still listening attentively. Hope made her senses keen, and her ears picked up the sound of the latch catching… but not the tumblers of the lock.

It was as obvious an invitation as she could have hoped for, and Leliana felt her heart thudding as she silently slipped down the hall toward the door Morrigan had gone through. At the door, she paused. Despite everything — everything she had been through in her life, everything _tonight_ , from the conspiracy and the fighting to her thrilling encounter with Morrigan — she was nervous. Not fearful of danger. But genuinely worried that Morrigan would reject her, would laugh at her. Nervous that she had misinterpreted Morrigan’s signals, that she was not in fact interested in any kind of intimacy with Leliana. For an interminable moment, she hesitated. But then she remembered Cassandra in the hallway, also hesitating. But Cassandra had overcome it. And so would Leliana.

She placed her hand on the door handle, and gently pushed down — and her breath caught, just a little, when the handle moved not at all. Being reasonably sure the door was unlocked, she pressed down harder. Still, the handle did not move, not even the fraction it would have done if the lock had been engaged. Mildly confused, Leliana stood silently, her hand on the handle, wondering what to do next.

Then the abruptly handle moved down of its own accord, and Leliana snatched her hand back just in time for the door to be pulled open. Morrigan stood on the other side, wearing an odd expression that Leliana barely had time to identify as _anxious_ before her features shifted into their accustomed mask of insouciance. Morrigan’s head tilted to the side, and she said, “You never did know to leave well enough alone, did you?”

The familiar caustic tone, the slight curl of the lip, was almost enough to cause Leliana’s determination to falter. But, no — that was not _rejection_ , that was merely _Morrigan_ , sharp and sly as she had ever been. “Ah,” Leliana said, smiling slightly. “‘Well enough,’ is that what you call your departure earlier?”

“There was nothing more to say. ’Twas the most expeditious way to withdraw.”

“Nothing more to say?” Leliana laughed. 

“Not all of us feel the need to prattle endlessly,” Morrigan replied archly, but there was no real venom behind it.

Many of her colleagues in the Inquisition would be nonplussed to hear the suggestion that Leliana was a _prattler_ , and she smiled, reminded that so much about both of them had changed… yet so much remained. All of a sudden, Leliana felt as bold and forward as she had been all those years ago. “Admittedly, there are some situations in which words aren’t needed,” she said, her tone taking on a new note of warmth. “Such as, for example, getting you out of that dress.”

Morrigan looked very gratifyingly startled, and she stuttered, whatever response she was trying to make getting caught in her throat. 

Leliana smiled expressively. “I am very certain that a gown that structured will require a second pair of hands to remove. And with the palace still in a bit of confusion over the evening’s events, I doubt your chambermaid has presented herself to help you… yes?”

Morrigan blinked, catlike. “…Yes. The girl is nowhere to be found. And I suppose that, if you are going to turn up unannounced, you can at least make yourself useful.” She stepped back, holding the door open for Leliana, who stepped through with a mischievous smile at Morrigan. 

Leliana strode ahead, through the sitting room — Morrigan’s rank or perceived value to the Empire evidently warranted being assigned a small suite — and through the open interior door, into the expansive and ornate personal chamber beyond. The rooms were very typical of the Orlesian style, more ostentatiously lavish than they really had to be, but functional and comfortable enough. Leliana looked around curiously. The bed had been turned down, presumably before the evening’s main events.

She turned to glance at Morrigan, who had followed her into the room and was now regarding her with a guarded expression. Leliana smiled, allowing her gaze to linger on Morrigan’s form. It really was a beautiful gown. A beautiful gown on a beautiful woman, Leliana thought, with a pleasant, hopeful glow of desire. 

“Although it pains me to think I might never again see you in such a lovely gown,” Leliana said, “I imagine you don’t care to wear it any longer than needful.”

Again, Morrigan gave a slow blink, then walked slowly toward the dressing area of the chamber. As she walked, she undid the metal clasps on her fingerless gloves. Without turning around to face Leliana, she said, “So you think this frippery suits me? Better than….” Morrigan pulled the gloves off her hands and laid them on the top of the dressing-table.

“Not better,” Leliana murmured. “Not exactly.” She stepped close to Morrigan, close enough to touch, then pulled off her own gild-dyed kid gloves and laid them on the table. Moving so she was directly behind Morrigan, she carefully unlatched the heavy, shimmering necklace the other woman wore. “The gown is very beautiful, and you look absolutely stunning in it. In formal dress, elegant and refined and immaculate, you are very splendid.” Morrigan brought her hands up to gently pull the opened necklace away and set it on top of her gloves. 

Leliana allowed her bare hands to very softly touch the tops of Morrigan’s shoulders, where the gown’s neckline exposed the skin. She gently turned Morrigan so that they were facing one another. Their eyes met, and Leliana’s breath caught. There was _heat_ there, in Morrigan’s gaze. Leliana spent a fraught second wanting to simply tear the gown away from Morrigan’s body, to ravish her right there, bent over the dressing table.

She quickly got herself under control. They were no longer callow girls, neither of them. And after so many years, after so long nursing her thwarted desire, Leliana could go slowly, could do this properly. She slid her fingers down, softly, from the tops of Morrigan’s shoulders. Greatly daring, she allowed her fingertips to caress the tops of Morrigan’s breasts above the neckline of the gown. A small, barely-audible sound escaped Morrigan, and her dark-stained lips fell open.

Leliana tore her eyes away from Morrigan’s heated gaze, past her beautiful mouth, to the lacing down the front of the corset. She found her voice again. “This gown, like other trappings of The Game, signals one’s power, one’s position, one’s influence. Such gowns are not necessarily supposed to be beautiful. Powerful, yes; intimidating.”

The laces were tied in a discreet bow, which Leliana quickly undid before allowing her fingers to move down the line of the panels, deftly loosening the laces all the way down; the leather of the corset was of the highest quality, luminous and smooth and substantial. She placed her hands on Morrigan’s hips and gently urged the other woman to turn, until her back was to Leliana. “But on you, Morrigan… how could such a gown fail to be beautiful?” she murmured, leaning close, sliding her hands over Morrigan’s hips. Leliana stood like that, relishing the closeness of their bodies, for a moment, before moving on. 

Leliana’s fingers found the busk of the gown’s corset and, with a practiced touch, she gently pressed the panels close enough to release the polished brass studs from their loops, allowing the corset to open like a flower in bloom. Morrigan let out a soft sigh of relief, and Leliana had to suppress the urge to offer a comforting caress to Morrigan’s exposed shoulders. Instead, she carefully held the corset so that Morrigan could pull it away from her body and set it on the dressing table. 

Like the corset, with its busk on the wearer’s back, the rest of Morrigan’s gown required unfastening from behind. Leliana undid the line of flat mother-of-pearl buttons that secured the gown’s blouse, delighting in the richness of the crimson velvet, plush under her touch. Then she undid the sturdy metal loop-and-stud hardware that held fast the waist of the gown’s skirt; the green silk was embroidered with gold thread here and there, glinting in the room’s firelight. The next few steps were not nearly as intimate or graceful as might have been desired: Leliana and Morrigan both had to carefully maneuver the stiff and closely-tailored blouse off Morrigan’s arms, being very careful of its delicate glittering ornaments, and then practically wrestle the voluminous skirt and petticoats to get them off and safely draped over the back of a nearby armchair. 

Then Morrigan stood before Leliana in her chemise, drawers, and stockings, the perfect white of the fabric barely more pale than her smooth skin. Leliana allowed her gaze to roam over Morrigan’s body, unabashed. When they had adventured together, Morrigan had often been scantily clad, to say nothing of the necessity of changing or bathing in one another’s presence, and Leliana had not been shy about looking. Morrigan had always been beautifully curved, and Leliana had frankly liked to look at her purely on aesthetic grounds. The intervening years had softened and loosened her figure, and Leliana found herself overcome by a swell of tender affection mixed with intense desire. Morrigan was so much more beautiful to her because of the changes Leliana saw, how those parts of her that had been as firm as green berries now hung lush and low, ripe and unutterably sensual.

Leliana found her voice was rough when she tried to speak. “The gown is indeed very beautiful, Morrigan. No one tonight looked more stunning. But I think a certain level of dishabille suits you even more.”

She had vague intentions of stepping forward, taking Morrigan’s hands, leading her to the bed, sitting her down so that Leliana could help her remove her dancing slippers and stockings (if nothing else, the Inquisition uniform would make for a pretty picture as Leliana knelt before Morrigan, as though in supplication), then, perhaps, allowing her hands to trace up Morrigan’s bare legs under her drawers, to find the tender silken skin of Morrigan’s thighs with her lips….

Morrigan, apparently, had other ideas. She stepped forward and, without ceremony, began methodically removing Leliana’s Inquisition uniform, starting with the belt cinched around Leliana’s waist. “I think perhaps you are overdressed,” Morrigan purred, not slowing down, tugging off the blue satin sash and undoing the buttons that held the jacket closed. “Even your duty to the Inquisition cannot justify lingering in such attire. ’Tis worse than the gowns and masks the tiresome courtiers wear. Surely you are as anxious as I to remove the trappings of pomp and formality?”

Leliana gave a rather breathless laugh. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said, loosening the ties of her trousers even as Morrigan pulled off the linen shirt Leliana had worn under the jacket. Leliana roughly shoved down her unfastened trousers, kicking them off along with her boots, until she was in her breastband and smalls. Morrigan put her arms around Leliana, pulling her close; their faces were inches apart. The sudden contact, all along her body, pulled a gasp from Leliana. She could feel every curve and swell of Morrigan’s body, with only a few scraps of fabric between them. She looked into Morrigan’s face. “Did you intend this?” she asked softly.

“I have learned to take what opportunities present themselves. One never knows what tomorrow will bring,” Morrigan said, her voice low and warm.

Leliana took a breath. She ran her hands over the warm skin of Morrigan’s upper back, bare above where her low-cut chemise ended. “How long — did you always…?”

Morrigan’s mouth quirked. “No. ’Twas only you, in those early days. Indeed, your attentions were more vexing than anything. But time brings new perspectives, on all things. Over the years, my desires took new shapes, and… often landed on you.” Morrigan’s hands stroked slowly over the bare skin of Leliana’s back. “I _do_ wish to align myself with the Inquisition. This would be true regardless of my other feelings.” Morrigan’s eyes swept over Leliana’s face. “Leliana,” she said, and Leliana’s heart flittered anew at the sound of her name spoken by Morrigan, “change has come to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fibre of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need the most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free.” Morrigan’s hand came up to cup Leliana’s face. “I am gratified at the opportunity to renew our acquaintance. ’Tis a delight unlooked-for among the machinations of the world.”

Then, as Leliana had often imagined, Morrigan’s head tilted, and she kissed Leliana’s lips. Oh, it was as enjoyable and thrilling as ever Leliana had imagined, the rushing bliss of returned affection, the deep resonant throb of physical pleasure, the rapture of Morrigan’s lips and body.

And it was so very different than Leliana had ever imagined. Not in an inn or a tent or an open grove, but in comfortable chambers in a palace. Both of them older and more worldly than in Leliana’s fantasies. But, oh, Leliana revelled in the sensations of this moment, the sensual softness of Morrigan’s waist under her hands, the taste of wax and pigment from the stain on Morrigan’s lips, the slight callouses on Morrigan’s fingers where they held her jaw and clasped her back.

They stood, kissing, touching, for many long moments, exploring each other. Slowly, in between caresses and kisses, they walked over to the bed. Its frame was as vulgar and ostentatious as any in Halamshiral, but Leliana certainly appreciated the plush comforter, the fine linen sheets, the copious number of plump pillows.

It was like nothing Leliana had ever imagined; like nothing she had ever experienced. She and Morrigan moved together with a care and sweetness that she would never have expected, that she could not have imagined in her feverish daydreams, that she had not encountered in her long-ago previous liaisons. Morrigan was not calculated in her touch, as Marjolaine had been; but she was attentive, appreciative, responsive. Piece by piece, their remaining clothing came away, until they were both bare, skin moving against skin, mouths and hands touching and caressing and kissing. Morrigan’s lips left faint stains where they roamed, on Leliana’s throat, on her shoulders, on her breasts.

Leliana rolled herself on top of Morrigan, so that she could see and feel and touch all she desired. Then, carefully, while still lavishing attention on every part of Morrigan that her hands and mouth could reach, Leliana arranged pillows under Morrigan’s hips, and under her knees, so that she could lie supine, relaxed and supported and comfortable. Then Leliana sat back, admiring Morrigan’s recumbent form, her eyes roving over her soft pale thighs, the low rise of her belly, her full breasts pooling low and pink-tipped over her abdomen, her smooth freckled arms… and her face, her beautiful face, looking at Leliana with an expression of desire and appreciation.

Leliana crawled back up to fervently kiss Morrigan, their tongues sliding together, intimate and thrilling. “You are even more beautiful now than you were then,” Leliana whispered, playful. “You are absolutely flawless.” She then proceeded to show Morrigan just how beautiful Leliana found every part of her, thoroughly kissing and stroking her way down Morrigan’s body, murmuring praises, lingering whenever she found a spot that made Morrigan writhe. Morrigan was almost perfectly silent, though her hands found their way into Leliana’s hair, encouraging and guiding.

When Leliana dropped kisses up Morrigan’s inner thigh and — at long last — pressed her mouth to Morrigan’s sex, she tasted the rich tang of her arousal, wet and flowing already. Leliana glanced up. Morrigan’s expression was intense as she gazed down at Leliana, her hands gently carding through Leliana’s hair. Leliana closed her eyes and proceeded by feel: her tongue and lips moving ardently and thoroughly among Morrigan’s folds; the tensing and relaxing of Morrigan’s thighs; the gentle motions of Morrigan’s fingers in Leliana’s hair.

Then the fingers on Leliana’s head moved differently, pulling her gently but insistently up. Leliana glanced up and met Morrigan’s gaze. “Please,” Morrigan said softly, “come here.” Leliana extricated herself from between Morrigan’s legs and allowed herself to be pulled up to be kissed by Morrigan, who thoroughly explored Leliana’s mouth, tasting herself. “Mmmm,” Morrigan hummed, then, before Leliana could say anything, Morrigan took Leliana by the wrist, guiding her hand down between her legs, allowing her thighs to fall further open, gently encouraging Leliana’s fingers to press inside of Morrigan. 

Leliana required no further direction. She pushed herself so that she could get her fingers at a practical yet comfortable angle while still kissing Morrigan, then began rhythmically moving her hand, two fingers curling slickly inside, her palm gently sliding over Morrigan’s apex. Morrigan began moving, her hips canting up to meet Leliana’s motions, and her breathing became ragged.

Morrigan was clutching at Leliana’s back, then one of her arms slid between them, and she slithered her body so that she was able to reach her hand to cup the mound of Leliana’s sex without pressing directly into it. She looked at Leliana, inquiring, asking permission. And it had been so long, oh, since anyone had touched Leliana. She might have thought this would be hard, would be fraught. But it wasn’t. Not with Morrigan, not now. Wordlessly, eyes locked with Morrigan’s, Leliana let out a breathy moan and slotted her legs between Morrigan’s, then shimmied until they were perfectly positioned. She pushed her hips against Morrigan’s hand, inviting and encouraging. They could not manage this, with both their hands properly positioned, and still keep their faces close enough for kissing; but it was a perfectly reasonable sacrifice, Leliana thought, for it allowed her to gaze at Morrigan as they strove together, to watch the play of pleasure and desire on Morrigan’s features in response to the motions of Leliana’s fingers, even as Morrigan’s fingers curled inside of Leliana. Their movement was not hurried, but began to take on a deeper urgency. Leliana could feel how wet Morrigan was, could feel the swell and pulse of her inner walls, the needy desire in the motions of her body. Then a low and throaty groan came from Morrigan’s parted lips, and her body convulsed, pulsed, spilled over Leliana’s hand.

When Morrigan stilled, Leliana was breathing hard, staring at Morrigan’s beautiful face, her features slack and utterly serene, her expression wanton and replete. Leliana carefully pulled her fingers out, then moved to the side, to let Morrigan relax entirely, gasping a little as Morrigan’s hand pulled away from Leliana’s still-primed sex. Looking at Morrigan, who gazed back from half-lidded eyes, Leliana snuck her hand down between her own legs. It barely took her a moment to bring herself to climax, rubbing her eager body against Morrigan’s soft and relaxed form, feeling her own nipples catch and slide over Morrigan’s full breasts, watching Morrigan’s eyes, her mouth, Morrigan, _Morrigan_.

Leliana slid off Morrigan, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of her release, and curled alongside her, draping one arm across Morrigan’s waist, hooking one leg over Morrigan’s, unwilling to allow much distance to come between them. She dozed a bit, lost in a haze of post-coital happiness, aglow at the thought that finally, _finally_ she had partaken of what she had wanted so long ago. And it was so sweet and good that she could almost believe herself that young again, that innocent and eager and unthinkingly vulnerable.

Morrigan stirred, and Leliana opened her eyes, looking at Morrigan. The stain had been smudged almost entirely off her mouth; Leliana saw again the fine lines, the shadows that touched her face. Leliana smiled affectionately. “Oh,” she breathed, “you are just beautiful, Morrigan. You are wonderful.”

Morrigan gave a small smile in return, and pushed herself so that she was lying face-to-face with Leliana. She pulled one of Leliana’s hands up between them and held it to her chest; Leliana could feel the beating of her heart. They lay in silence for several minutes, then Morrigan said, “At Skyhold… perhaps we can have this, some nights.”

“Perhaps every night,” Leliana said, smiling. “There is quite a lot of time to make up for, you know.”

Morrigan’s expression shifted. “It cannot be every night. Nor even most nights.”

Leliana breathed, felt tension creep back into her body, her mind. “Yes, of course. There will always be much work to do.”

“That is very true. But there is also my son.”

Leliana’s breath caught. She had known that Morrigan had sought to conceive a child, a child who would have the soul of an Old God.

“Halamshiral was not safe for him, even before tonight. He is kept safe elsewhere in Orlais. But… one of my reasons for wanting to join with the Inquisition is so that I might bring him to live with me, in Skyhold. I can protect him there. I _will_ protect him,” Morrigan said, a note of fierceness entering her voice, and Leliana felt her heart thrum more deeply beneath her hand.

Leliana nodded. “You will both be safer at Skyhold, as safe as anywhere in Thedas,” she said, firm and resigned.

Morrigan gazed at her. “Change comes to us all, and life is ever imperfect. Our choices are always compromises… and are never without consequences. I will come to Skyhold. I will live there, with Kieran, and — and with you.”

Leliana’s mouth quirked in a bitter smile. “Not so much with _me_ , though,” she murmured.

One of Morrigan’s hands snuck up, stroking along Leliana’s collarbone, then touching her lips. “I have made my choices.”

Leliana closed her eyes. “I will protect your son as diligently as I will protect you, Morrigan, when you come to Skyhold. And I know that, with you as his mother, he will be safe, and well protected… and well loved.”

Leliana felt Morrigan’s fingers leave her face, felt Morrigan shift, then felt her kiss. After a moment, Leliana softened, her mouth opening, and she twined her body with Morrigan’s, kissing slowly and deeply, knowing they would seldom come together again, if at all. She pulled back to look at Morrigan. “But… I hope… perhaps sometimes….”

“I hope so too,” Morrigan murmured.

Later, Leliana left Morrigan warm and comfortable in the enormous bed. She dressed in the Inquisition uniform, including the ugly sash and dyed gloves — it would allow her an easier passage through the palace and to the rooms assigned to be the Inquisition’s quarters. After such an important and crowded ball, there were a few people lingering in the public rooms and hallways, even at this hour. Leliana kept herself diligently to the shadows, kept her energy low, so as to attract almost no notice. Still, she should not have been surprised when Josephine came up beside her, matching her stride, linking their arms. Josie would have been taking stock of the remaining stragglers, continuing to forge connections for the Inquisition long after the ball and the fighting had both ended.

“Leliana,” Josie said, sounding tired. It was a greeting, and not a question, and yet it _was_. Leliana knew Josephine well enough to know this. She knew also that Josephine would respect her privacy if she chose to say nothing, but that she would be wanting to know how it had gone with Morrigan, and whether Leliana had gotten what she wanted.

_Had_ she?

What could she say she had really _wanted_ anyway? What had she expected? Loss and grief and catastrophic change were the surest constants in the world. She would never truly be able to have what she wanted, to have the fullness of happiness and security. Devotion. Love. Despite herself — perhaps she was even more tired than she realized — she drew a shuddering breath that caused Josephine to give her a startled glance.

But she quickly reined in her overreaction. This was not a loss. It was _not_. Morrigan was coming to Skyhold. Morrigan felt something of desire, of affection, of closeness toward Leliana; enough, and more than enough, to build a connection. Falling into bed with Morrigan had been wonderful, the culmination of years of longing. Just because they were not about to set up house and live as a pair of commonplace lovers did not mean that there was nothing, that this was a loss. This was a small, beautiful, flawed triumph of the heart. It meant _something_. It would be enough.

Leliana gave a small sigh, then directed a rueful smile at Josephine. “Come,” she said. “You must be tired, if you have been conducting diplomatic overtures all night. Let us order some wine, if we can possibly find a server — or perhaps we could raid the cellars — no?” she asked, amused, as Josephine laughed quietly and shook her head. “Let us go back to the room, and we can tell each other all about it.”

Arm-in-arm, indulgently swaying a little with their fatigue, they walked through the quiet and the pre-dawn gloom of Halamshiral’s hallways, to find companionship and sympathy and rest.


End file.
